The yard is fully awake, roused by brilliant sunshine. Every stem stirs, an audible creak and rustle, and the breeze feels like a contented yawn. I’m tempted to use the word “spring” again…
in the yard
From the Robin Archives
Today is one of those days. An achy, sleepy, over-tired day of necessary errands and unnecessary complications. An unoriginal day, tiresomely mundane. Unread books murmur from every shelf, unfinished taxes whisper anxiety, and unwalked trails sing a muddy siren song that I have no time to heed.
It’s a day to cover my ears, charge the camera’s batteries, and visit the archives. Here’s a photo from May 2010, one of my all-time favorites.
Point of View
It finally occurred to me, while taking these pictures, that I approach photography and writing from the same impulse. Every time I pick up my camera, pen, or laptop, I’m trying to tell a story. Or, at the very least, share an impression. And it always starts with noticing something. Today, I noticed a visitor “hiding” in the irises.
But how will I frame this story? Should I reveal its secret from the outset? Because the rabbit was not so well-hidden as it might seem, though I could gloss over that fact by photographing it at just the right angle, by restricting my point of view. A few steps to either side, and this particular story shifts from drama to comedy.
It’s an appealing metaphor, as I find words to be as quick and slippery as rabbits. I often end up holding a tuft of fluff, frustrated by the knowledge that something warm and alive has escaped my grasp.
Henbit and Purple Dead-nettle
Until last year, I never gave much thought to the “purple stuff” that claims the yard each spring. A few hours experimenting with my camera’s macro function converted indifference to fascination. I had never noticed the delicate, fringed mouths and tapering, graceful throats. I had never noticed the subtle differences that mean there are two distinct species of these purple beauties.
Once again, the urge to name what I photograph sent me into research mode. Aided by a 1968 edition of Peterson’s Field Guide to Wildflowers of Northeastern and North-central North America and Virginia Tech’s online Weed Identification Guide, I discovered that the purple blooms are two related species of the mint family: henbit and purple dead-nettle.
It still seems ironic that I found them listed as both wildflowers and weeds.
I believe the first two photos are henbit, and the last is purple dead-nettle. Please comment with correction and/or confirmation!
More Signs of Spring
This afternoon my nerves tingle with spring. It’s hard to deny the season when dandelions, hyacinths, and tulips add their voices to the clamor of change. Even the dog speaks, shedding her winter coat in dry clumps, which I scatter from her brush as offerings for the birds. Because I hear them calling, the cardinals and mockingbirds, chickadees and robins. Even a tufted titmouse, a new song for an old yard, aching with hope.
Rae Spencer 